Hand-Picked Husband. HEATHER MACALLISTER

we can make adjustments on your profiles. Some people say one thing when they want another, you know?”

      Clay smiled tightly and whipped out a credit card.

      “Thank you, ma’am,” he said after he’d scrawled his name on the slip. He straightened, folded his receipt and nodded to Autumn. “Good luck.”

      “Yeah.” She gripped her packet, curiously reluctant to even look at the names inside. “Same to you.”

      It seemed as though he was about to say something else, but he just nodded again, put on his hat and strode out the door.

      Autumn watched him continue down the steps.

      “You coulda saved a lot of money if you’d just dated him,” Maria said.

      “Why?” Autumn turned back around. “We didn’t match with each other, did we?”

      Maria blinked. “Did you want to?”

      “Well, no. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have signed up here.”

      “Okay, then.”

      “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve known Clay forever.” Autumn withdrew her checkbook from her purse. “We grew up next door to each other.”

      Maria didn’t say anything, which Autumn already figured out was unusual for her.

      “Thank you for your contribution,” Autumn said to cover the awkward silence. “We’ll be sending Yellow Rose Matchmakers two tickets for the Swine Auction Breakfast.” She tore off her check and handed it to Maria.

      “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Maria said, placing the check in a bank pouch.

      What an odd thing to say. Not “I hope one of the matches works for you” or even “Good Luck”.

      Shaking it off, Autumn tossed the envelope on the seat of her car and drove over to a coffee shop on the River Walk where she was scheduled to meet with the Hogs and Kisses women.

      

      Clay put off opening the envelope until after his meeting with Garcia and Delgado. It was on the pickup’s seat waiting for him when he climbed in.

      Instead of immediately driving off, he punched on the radio to a country music station and picked up the packet.

      For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t know what the future held. Of course nobody knew his exact future, but Clay found he could predict the basic details of his life with reasonable accuracy. Money would be short, work would be hard, and Autumn Reese would wander through his thoughts.

      He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine a life without Autumn getting on his nerves—or with her always getting on his nerves. In fact, he couldn’t imagine his life without Autumn in it, the way he couldn’t imagine life without the ranch.

      He’d been born to it. Four generations of Barnetts had lived on the land, weathered droughts, depression and the ups and downs of the cattle market. For him, the land was a sacred trust.

      And Autumn, well... He stared at the Yellow Rose packet. Your future wife could be in there. He fingered the envelope, then ripped it open.

      There were three sheets with a biographical summary obviously taken from the profiles, along with a name, post office box and telephone number.

      So call him shallow, but Clay wished he had a picture. He flipped through the names and realized he was surprised not to have been matched with Autumn.

      Each match listed a percentage of probable compatibility. Clay’s highest was eighty-four percent, which sounded like a B grade to him. The others were in the seventies. The fact that Autumn hadn’t made the cut meant that her profile and his must have had a near-failing percentage of compatibility.

      Of course, lately they’d gotten along like oil and water, but not getting matched with her disappointed Clay.

      He reshuffled the papers, deciding to call Miss Eighty-four percent, Julia Holbrook. Maybe she was free for dinner tonight.

      

      After the meeting with her Hogs and Kisses committee was over and the women had left, Autumn had a few minutes before she went to her part-time job as a legal clerk for a law firm in downtown San Antonio.

      Autumn had always known she would have to have a career or a job of some sort and had worked since she was a teenager. In most ranch families, someone, usually the wife, had to bring in needed cash.

      Not at Clay’s ranch, though. The Golden B was considerably larger than hers and could support a family.

      Not that it mattered to her one way or the other.

      Autumn ordered a large double mocha latte, then opened her packet from the Yellow Rose. She quickly scanned the names and became annoyed with herself when she realized she was looking for Clay’s.

      What were these percentages? Autumn read the explanation, then the one-page bios.

      The men sounded interesting. Nothing that pegged her zing meter, but she hadn’t seen them yet. Whom to call first?

      Autumn found she was a little nervous, so she decided to call match number two so she could practice on him. George Garza had a grade, or rather “probability percentage”, of eighty-six percent. Number one was ninety-one percent.

      Okay. Before she lost her nerve, Autumn used the public pay phone and called the message service, hoping George would suggest getting together. Soon.

      

      FAX

      To: Deb

      From: Nel

      They’re going to dinner tonight at

      Jason’s on the River Walk! Chill the champagne!

      Giddy with happiness, N.

      

      FACSIMILE

      To: Nellie Barnett, G B Ranch

      From: Debra Reese, R. Ranch

      Take the champagne out of the ice bucket. They’re going to dinner at Jason’s, but not with each other.

      What happened?

      D.

      

      Autumn barely had time to make the hour-and-a-half round trip from her home back into San Antonio after work.

      It turned out that George was a high school teacher and tonight was his only free night until Saturday. Since Autumn didn’t want to wait nearly a whole week, she agreed to dinner even though she would have preferred an activity of some sort.

      George had suggested Jason’s, a River Walk restaurant popular with both tourists and locals. Clay’s family liked to celebrate birthdays there. It was a pricey restaurant. Since George was her second choice, Autumn felt guilty about the expense and resolved to pay for her own dinner.

      She’d decided to wear her red suede jacket and denim skirt because it would be easy for George to spot her. Brown hair and brown eyes weren’t distinctive enough by themselves.

      Autumn parked in a lot close to the River Walk a few minutes early because she’d driven faster than she should have. She chose to walk on the path down by the river rather than cutting through the shops and hotels that lined the banks.

      The main portion of Jason’s was on a terrace with a great river view. There was also a downstairs level, then an outdoor bar that was on the river level. This was where she’d agreed to meet George. He’d promised to wear a yellow rose, which she thought was a little hokey but decided not to hold it against him.

      Once the sun went down, the air rapidly turned cool, as it always did this time of year. The cantina two doors down featured a Mexican mariachi band, and Autumn leaned against the railing, enjoying the catchy music while she scanned the path for a man who might be George.

      Lights